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And still she cries for me. Still she wrapped those arms around my neck when I had a bad dream, even when I nearly broke her wrist for trying to wake me.
I love her.
The thought hits me like a bowling ball. Especially because I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t be what Hannah deserves.
If I had any kind of decency, I’d move out and leave her out of my mess right now.
I stare at Grace, my gut churning. “Yeah, Grace, I’d rather not come, honestly. But thanks for asking. Listen, I have a question, though.”
“Yes?” She raises her manicured brows.
“You order your flowers already?”
Confusion flits over her face. “Um, no, but I’ll be doing it this week, why?”
“Make sure you get them from Garden of Eden. They’re award-winning. They do all the best weddings.” It’s the old Mando talking. The one who cared about designer names and having the best of everything. Because I know Grace still cares about all that shit.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, okay. Is that the place you used when you sent me all those—” she breaks off and swallows.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “They did a great job, right? They’re even better now. Like best in town.”
I notice Marco and Leo looking at me speculatively, but I ignore it.
If I can get Hannah some business out of Grace and Emilio’s fucking wedding, I’m going to do it.
“Okay, I’ll call them tomorrow. Thanks for the tip.” She looks at me again, regret soft on her face.
I’m a bastard because I still don’t feel like letting her off the hook. But when she turns away with slumped shoulders, I say her name, softly.
“Grace.”
She turns back.
“Thanks for checking in with me,” I say. It’s the best I can offer her at the moment, but it seems to be what she needs. Relief floods her face and she nods, smiling sadly.
“Of course. Good luck, Mando. With everything.”
“Yeah, you too.”
I watch her walk away, and Marco waits until she’s out of earshot to say, “She’s still a cunt.”
I’ve forgotten how to smile, but the corners of my mouth twitch. “Yeah, she is,” I say, but there’s nothing behind it. And not the dead, blank nothing I felt when I got out, but really nothing. An empty space, waiting to be filled.
Maybe I really am coming back to the living.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hannah
A week of feeling seasick.
Not being able to drink the wine Armando pours for me with dinner. I’d be stupid if I didn’t consider the possibility.
We’ve been careful… sometimes, even most of the time. But fuck… not all the time.
I remember the odds from high school health class. They’re not great.
I pick up a pregnancy test on my way home, rushing to get there before Armando does.
The queasiness in my belly grows, probably from nerves, and by the time I get home to my bathroom, I’m doubling over it and retching.
Ugh.
This shouldn’t be happening.
I’m with a guy who doesn’t even want to be my boyfriend. Being with Armando is like being on a rollercoaster of emotions. But this could throw us off the tracks, plunging toward the hard reality down below. An unplanned pregnancy is not going to help matters.
Or maybe it will, my stupid little voice of hope whispers.
No, it won’t. I try to savage it with bared teeth.
Shadow meows and threads his soft little body around my ankles, purring. I ignore him and read the directions for the test. I should wait for my morning pee, when the hormones would be the strongest, but I’m too wound up. I’ve bought the damn thing, and I need to do it now. I sit on the toilet and aim the stick in my stream of pee. Then sit there and wait.
My belly flutters out of control when the results appear. A faint positive line.
Tears spear my eyes, but I’m not devastated.
Strangely, it’s a mixture of excitement and fear that churn together.
And, of course, before I even have time to get my head on straight, I hear Armando walk into the apartment.
Shit! I don’t know what makes me throw the test into the kitty litter box and cinch the bag up for the trash, but I do. I rush out of the bathroom, somewhat desperate to get rid of the evidence before he sees it.
“You want me to take that out?” He reaches for the knotted bag of dirty litter.
“No, I’ll take it out.” Dammit, I sound breathless. My strange behavior doesn’t go unnoticed. Armando’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head.
“Be right back,” I call as I sweep out the door.
Nausea hits me hard on the trip downstairs. I gag at the dumpster, the nasty smell pushing me over the edge. I run away from it, my belly heaving, but fortunately not pushing the contents of my stomach all the way up and out.
